


if I die young (bury me in satin)

by ang3lba3



Series: A Game of Dragons and Wolves [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (it's just an anesthetic), Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Angst, Claustrophobia, Dragons, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' day has been shitty. </p><p>(It doesn't get better.)</p><p>This series has been discontinued. More info in the end notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if I die young (bury me in satin)

The rest of the day was hell.

 

He made the mistake of snapping at Lydia, and then made the bigger mistake of refusing to tell her what was going on. She’d figured out that he’d talked to Derek, but she didn’t know what he’d said. For once, Erica was respectful enough not to eavesdrop (and that within itself was a minor miracle) and so she couldn’t even pump the other girl for information. Not that Stiles was completely sure Erica would have told Lydia shit. Erica still viewed her as a slave - an honored slave, one to be treated well as she belonged to the Den Mother, but… still a slave.

 

Stiles wasn’t completely sure what he was supposed to do about that or if he _could_ do anything, but he knew he felt obligated to try. Eventually. For now, he just wanted to figure out how to make his husband _listen_  to him.

 

He left his tent, stalking like he had a mission but really just prepared to wander aimlessly. He felt lost, his hands shaking with pent up rage and shame. Stiles didn’t know what he had to do to prove himself, to be good enough that Derek would… would _anything._

 

The camp was loud and large, despite living out of tents a remarkably settled in feel to it. It reminded him of an army camp during a siege. There was a strange and very specific vibe, transience of an always ready to move people mixed with the permanence of a city. And it was a city, a thriving metropolis of women, men and children.

 

It had never been safe enough anywhere he went for him to walk freely throughout anywhere but a private residence, and even then he had to be on guard at all times. More than one assassin had attacked him while he was in a supposedly safe house.

 

But here - here he could relax. He could allow his shoulders to drop, and while he still played with his butterfly knife absently as he walked, he felt… secure. His mind drifted from thought to thought, and felt anonymous. Stiles wasn’t, of course, but the ‘wolves around him were polite enough to pretend so.

 

Stiles ended up in what seemed to be the business district of what he’d personally started referring to as Tentlandia. He headed towards what he thought were storage tents, walked in the small alleys between them. Finally, he sat down, resting against a tent post, and leaned his head back to stare at the sky.

 

He closed his eyes, ignored the footsteps he heard approaching, assuming it was just someone come to collect something. The person walking paused in front of him, and he’d just put his head facing forward and started opening his eyes when something wet hit him straight in the face. Some went into his mouth and up his nose, and he blinked bleary eyes to try and clear it.

 

The blinks got longer and longer, Stiles still unable to see anything, and then he didn’t open his eyes again.

 

-

 

Stiles groaned his way awake, limbs twitching as he tried to move himself into a more comfortable position. When he managed to get his eyes open - they were crusted shut, and he couldn’t move his arms, they kept banging into something only a few inches above them - he saw nothing but black. Without thinking he tried to sit up, cracked his head on the same thing his arms had been bumping against.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles whined, just barely remembering not to reach up to cradle his aching skull. He wasn’t thinking clearly, thoughts slow and jumbled and abstract.

 

After what felt like an eternity of trying to sort out the mess in his head, he remembered what had happened. He hoped it was a practical joke, but knew it wasn’t.

 

What he was laying on felt like satin, and there was a little bump for his head to rest on. That was nice of them, whoever they were. Satin, enclosed space, little bump for his head. At his feet was something that felt like stone when he nudged it, and they bumped up against his toes every once in a while. His feet must have been twitching, and he did his best to keep them still and thanked the Gods for steel toed boots.

  
Stiles carefully tilted a hand upwards, reached up to trace along the top of the - whatever it was. Container, sure. It was satin lined too, and there seemed to be a crack in the middle.

 

He had a very bad feeling about this, about what this was, but he ignored it because it wasn’t helping him at all and he pushed his knees up and against the top of the container. It didn’t budge.

 

There was a word in the corner of his mind, one he was desperately trying to avoid, because he knew when he heard it he would panic. And when he panicked, when he lost control, magic happened. Sometimes helpful, sometimes saving his life - more often doing nothing but tiring him out.

 

And then the crackling started.

 

It sounded like - it took him a minute to place the sound, and when he did, he couldn’t help himself.

 

 _Coffin!_ his mind screamed. _We’re in a fucking coffin, and it’s on **fire!**_

Stiles started screaming, banging against the top in a futile effort to break out. Sure, he’d held a fucking coal in his hand, but that wasn’t anything, that was a party trick - this was the beginnings of a bonfire with him trapped in the middle.

 

Magic literally sparked out of him, and he tried to calm down but he couldn’t, because the sparks had caught the linen on fire. He couldn’t breathe - the smoke filled the air, and Stiles realized that he would die of asphyxiation even if the heat didn’t kill him. Something was strange about the smoke, acrid and sweet at the same time, like an herb was burning with him. The stones at his feet were slamming into him repeatedly, but he had no room to spare a thought as to what the fuck was happening with that.

 

It was getting uncomfortably warm and his legs were more limply wiggling than actually slamming into the wood above them, and he was barely able to move his hands at all. Even though he was in almost complete darkness already - any light from the fire crowded out by the smoke - he could see a new kind of black creeping at the edges of his vision. The kind he knew he wouldn’t wake up from.

 

There was a loud crack as the wood above him split, caving inwards and crushing him. Stiles heard snaps that he wasn’t sure were from the wood or his bones. Either way, if he could just push the wood off of himself he could get out.

 

He pushed as hard as he could, but it wasn’t enough - he was too weak. His breath came in pants, scraping along his throat and causing excruciating pain in his ribs.

 

There was a sound like stone grating on stone, loud and dissonant even in the cacophony of burning. He heard a loud shriek, and then the wood was flying off of him.

 

Stiles sucked in a breath of clearer air with a harsh and pathetic noise, choking on it a little. His vision started to slowly clear, but - but something was crawling up his leg. He didn’t have enough energy left in him to panic, only the clear and undeniable knowledge that he was going to die.

 

The weight stepped on his stomach, pinprick of claws through his shirt, and he thought that he hadn’t had enough air left to scream but he was so, so wrong because he did. It was a high pitched noise, without enough air to be a wail but desperately trying to be one. It hurt like few things in his life had before, and he’d gone through enough torture at the hands of would be assassins before rescue/escape to recognize that his ribs were destroyed. Stiles was just lucky at this point that his lung wasn’t punctured.

 

Whatever the creature was, it made an answering (if louder) noise and backed up until it was settled firmly on his crotch. That grating noise came again, and then again, and there were two more things settled on him - one on his upper legs and one on his calves.

 

Through the agonizing pain of breathing, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder what was happening outside of his little bubble of barely breathable air and unidentified beings.

 

-

 

Derek wanted to scream.

 

He honestly didn’t know why he was being so difficult, why he kept running away when all he wanted to do was stay forever. Why he was cold and cruel when he wanted to be soft and loving.

 

Well, he had some idea. He knew that he was scared. Down right terrified, to be honest. How else was he supposed to feel? Stiles was just… so _there._ Everything he could have ever wished for in one neat package, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was a trap.

 

Laura thought that he was being stupid, but she understood, and she wasn’t pushing as hard as she could have been. Stiles just wanted - presumably, and Derek was still suspicious of this - to be his mate. He was the perfect Den Mother. Isaac adored him, Erica wanted to adopt him, Laura thought he was the perfect new little brother, and Boyd hadn’t offered to make him “disappear”. Stiles came with a big, glowing stamp of approval.

 

And Derek had no idea what to do with that.

 

He was so busy brooding that he didn’t notice Laura coming up to him. He startled when she put her hands on his shoulders.

 

“Derek,” Laura said, and she looked like she might start crying. “Derek, I need you to stay calm, no matter what I say next.”

 

Oh. Well. That wasn’t _ominous_ or anything.

 

Derek straightened, nodded, knew he probably wouldn’t keep that promise. God, Laura should have been Alpha, he couldn’t control himself for shit most of the time. She was supposed to have been Alpha, and she was for a little bit, but then the Peter debacle happened and if it wasn’t for Lydia Laura would have been permanently dead.

 

He’d never been so happy to watch someone burn.

 

“We’ve captured Kate-”

 

Derek jerked out from under Laura’s hands, stood, growling and eyes red already.

 

“-but. Der, she got to Stiles first.” Laura paused, assessed the way he’d stopped, just stopped everything, would have stopped his heart beating if he could. “It would be easier to show you.”

 

The run to wherever they were going were a complete blur, Derek not sure how he was moving at all. When they stopped, ten feet away from a funeral pyre, the air was tainted with wolfsbane.

 

“She burned him,” Derek said numbly, hoarsely. He couldn’t think.

 

Laura nodded, and he saw the movement in his peripheral vision.

 

“I can’t-” Derek said, unable to look away. “I can’t-”

 

His sister forcibly turned him away from the fire, manhandled him into a hug. Nothing she could do could block  out the sound of it though, even when he heard his betas run up and they huddled around him. Laura was singing in his ear, he thought, trying to calm him down. There wasn’t anything to calm. There wasn’t anything left of him.

 

“It’s not fair,” he choked out, and then louder, “It’s not fair!”

 

“I know baby,” Laura said, petting him, like he should be comforted and no - no he shouldn’t - he - this was his _fault_ -

 

He shoved her away, ripped his way free from Boyd’s arms and Erica and Isaac’s holds on his hands.

 

“Why does this keep happening?!” Derek yelled. “What did I - how do I make it _stop,_ what am I supposed to-”

 

A weak, high pitched whine worked its way through his hearing, through the sound of the fire, through the sound of his own frantic heartbeat and harsh breathing.

 

Derek turned in the direction it was coming from. The fire. There was - someone was alive in the fire, oh God, Stiles was alive-

 

He darted towards it before he could even think, tackled before he got far by a heavy body that meant Boyd.

 

“Let me up!” he yelled, hysterical. “He’s alive! You have to let me up!”

 

“We’re not losing you too,” Laura said with grim determination as she piled on top of Boyd.

 

-

 

Shouting. There was - that voice-

 

Stiles rasped out something that was meant to be _Derek_ but was more just him shrieking. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak. There was another shout, and then a loud thud and more shouting. Stiles desperately tried again, and the beings settled on his legs echoed him.

 

He wasn’t all too sure that Derek liked him, no matter what Laura and the betas said, but he wouldn’t let him die, would he? Stiles liked to think he wouldn’t, at the least, mostly because he really fucking wanted to live but also partially because he liked Derek.

 

Even if he was a butthead.

 

-

 

There were ungodly shrieks coming from the coffin, and no matter how hard Derek fought, his betas wouldn’t let him up. He was somewhat hampered by the fact that he wouldn’t actually kill them, although he was thinking about it.

 

As he fought, the shrieks tapered off, until there was nothing but the fire.

 

Derek collapsed on the ground, exhausted, watched numbly as the coffin, the pyre, and Stiles turned to ash.

**Author's Note:**

> i want to apologize to you all, first off. I know that i picked the worst time in the series to drop it, but i had to leave the fandom because it was just covered in triggers for me and i couldn't do it. 
> 
> there was a happy ending to this planned, very vaguely. i was going to burn kate to death. they were going to go overseas and conquer the ten kingdoms. derek was going to get his head out of his ass after stiles' near death experience and apologize and sit by his bed the entire time he recovers from inhaling all that wolfsbane (the smoke wouldn't bother him, but the plant sure did). they were going to have that talk that stiles has so desperately been trying to have. 
> 
> im really sorry that i haven't been able to deliver on all of these plans. i love you all and appreciate the support and continued interest that has been shown in this dusty old abandoned series.
> 
> on tumblr at [this blog](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)


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